


Mrs. & Mrs. Lance

by the_nvisiblegirl



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Established Relationship, F/F, Marriage, Modern Assassins, Movie AU, Wives who kill together stay together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nvisiblegirl/pseuds/the_nvisiblegirl
Summary: Sara and Ava are your typical mid-30s, suburban married couple: white picket fence, neighborhood potlucks, and a lackluster sex life. But things change when they find out that they have not been entirely truthful about what they do for a living. After a botched mission they find out that they're both professional assassins for competing agencies and have been assigned to kill each other. Can your marriage survive when your wife is trying to kill you?ORThe "Mr. & Mrs. Smith" AU nobody asked for.
Relationships: Jefferson "Jax" Jackson & Sara Lance, Nora Darhk & Ava Sharpe, Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe
Comments: 38
Kudos: 182





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand... I'm back with another AU. A multi-chapter this time. I don't know what it is about these two but they're just so AU-able. Recently re-watched Mr. & Mrs. Smith and it hit me that it would be the perfect story for these two because... duh.
> 
> This is just a very short prologue before the actually story starts but I thought it was important to include it to outline their dynamic in this.
> 
> I'll try to update this weekly (but no promises).
> 
> Enjoy, punks!

“Let me start by saying that we don't really need to be here. We've been married five years—”

“Six,” Ava interrupted without looking up.

“Five, six years,” Sara shrugged, readjusting her position in the armchair she was currently occupying. Next to her was her wife of five—well, six—years, sat in another armchair and probably even more uncomfortable with this situation than Sara herself.

She didn’t remember whose idea it had been to go to couples therapy in the first place, but she knew that she was already regretting the decision. They didn’t need this, they were fine. Yes, their relationship had changed over the years but that’s what relationships did, right? They changed and evolved and grew. And they’d never been the most lovey-dovey couple to begin with; they just worked, though. Why fix something that wasn’t broken?

“This is just… a little check up,” Ava reasoned then and Sara nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, a chance to poke around the engine, maybe change the oil.”

They still weren’t making eye contact.

“Very well, then. Let's pop the hood,” the therapist said, scribbling something onto her notepad before looking back up.

“On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you as a couple?”

“Eight.”

Ava’s answer was immediate. To the point. Lacking any kind of emotional inflection. She sounded almost cold, businesslike. Very Ava.

Sara crossed her arms.

“Wait. Is ten, like, ‘perfectly happy’ and one ‘totally miserable,’ or—”

“Just answer instinctively,” the therapist encouraged her with a gentle smile, “ready?”

“Eight,” they said in perfect unison.

The therapist nodded but did not seem entirely convinced.

“How often do you have sex?”

Sara swallowed. She could practically feel Ava stiffen beside her before saying, “I don't understand the question.”

“Yeah, I’m lost. Is this another one to ten thing?”

“So is one very little, or is one nothing? Because, you know, technically speaking, zero would be nothing.”

Sara tried to fight the urge to roll her eyes because of course Ava would try and argue that there was an issue with the question itself rather than admit that she was less than excellent at anything. Yes, their sex life had been a little quiet lately—to the point where Sara couldn’t actually remember the last time they’d slept with each other, she realized with a pang of disappointment—but that didn’t mean that there was something wrong with their marriage. They were both busy with work, and life, and… not having sex with each other.

“How about this week?” the therapist tried again, looking from one blonde to the other expectantly.

“Including the weekend?”

“Sure.”

The two women stayed quiet, pointedly avoiding eye contact with both the therapist and each other.

Right, maybe their relationship was a little broken.

The therapist seemed to gather as much because Sara could hear her scribble something down before clearing her throat, intent on moving this forward.

“Describe how you first met.”

Easy.

“It was in Colombia,” Sara said, a wistful smile forming on her lips at the memory.

“Bogotá,” Ava supplied.

“Five years ago.”

“Six,” Ava cut in, and Sara let out a quiet sigh.

“Right, five or six years ago.”


	2. Colombia, 5 or 6 years ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said weekly updates but things happened, so... it took slightly longer.
> 
> Also, this chapter is slightly smuttier than I anticipated. You're welcome.
> 
> Enjoy, punks!

The commotion outside on the street was clearly audible from where Sara was currently sitting at the hotel bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. She could see police in riot gear and turned to the bartender, who, as far as she could tell, was one of the only employees still at the hotel.

“¿Que esta pasando?”

“Buscan turistas que viajen solos,” he replied, not bothering to look up from the glass he was currently drying with a rag that had certainly seen better days. Well then.

Sara turned back to her drink to consider what her best move would be in this situation. She was very much a tourist traveling solo—or at least something that looked like it. Glancingaround the room to locate an exit other than the one that a group of armed policemen was currently walking through, she came up empty. From staying here for a few days she had a vague idea of how the hotel was laid out: if she remembered correctly the only way out at the end of the corridor was the kitchen to the left and that would be way too obvious. Better think quick if she wanted to get out of this one without further issues.

“¿Estás solo?” one of the men demanded and Sara figured that, for the time being, her best bet to stall them and avoid her—at this point—frankly inevitable arrest (unless she made a run for it, of course) was to pretend she did not understand what they were saying.

“¿Viajas solo?” the man asked again, even more forceful this time. He and his colleagues had started physically closing in on her, effectively trapping her between themselves and the bar.

It was then, right as Sara was about to leap across the bar behind her and make a run for it, that the door opened once again but, instead of more armed police making Sara’s life increasingly difficult, it was the most beautiful woman the blonde had ever seen. She was tall, dressed in a white sleeveless top and cream colored cotton slacks, her long blond hair cascading over her shoulders in waves as if she was in the middle of one of those ridiculous shampoo commercials instead of in a police state on lockdown because its dictator had just been assassinated. Sara gulped. Beautiful women had always been her weakness.

It was only then, way too late because she’d been so thoroughly distracted, that Sara noticed the policemen that had followed the woman into the hotel, interrogating her in much the same way that they were Sara herself. With this many policemen there definitely wasn’t a way to get out of this unscathed now.

Her hand moved to where her gun was tucked in the waistband of her black cargo pants, silently calculating how many shots she would need to take them out and get the hell out of this place. It would be ugly, uglier than she usually liked to leave things, but you had to do what you had to do.

That’s when it hit her. The solution to her problem was literally right in front of her—if she could somehow communicate to the beautiful stranger that she should pretend she knew Sara to save both their asses and not get arrested.

They locked eyes across the room and the blonde gave Sara an almost imperceptible nod. Right, then, that had been easier than anticipated.

“No, está bien. Estoy con ella,” Sara said to the policeman who had spoken so brusquely toher earlier, pointing at the other woman who was now walking toward her. Sara prayed to any deity that would listen that the blonde would be able to believably pretend to be friends. Relatives. Lovers. _Anything_ to each other rather than two perfect strangers.

“Hi,” the other woman breathed once they were within arm’s length. There was something mischievous in her eyes, a challenge, as she leaned in and pressed her lips to Sara’s cheek. An involuntary shudder ran through her body as the shorter woman gave a weak, “hey” in reply.

Their little act seemed to sufficiently satisfy the collective police force present, at least, since they let them walk out of the lobby and toward the hallway leading to the rooms without another word of interrogation or protest. Fuck, that had been a close call.

Without a word Sara opened the first door to her right, pulling the other woman with her. She didn’t care whose room this was, they had to get away from the police before they could change their mind about arresting them. Once the door was closed behind them Sara let out a relieved breath, leaning her head against the wood.

“I’m Ava, by the way.”

The sound of the other woman’s voice made Sara realize how close she still was. She swallowed.

“Sara, nice to meet you,” she replied, sounding more breathless than she liked to as she reached for Ava’s outstretched hand and took it in her own. Her skin was soft but her handshake was firm; the handshake of someone who didn’t take shit from anyone. To say Sara was intrigued was probably an understatement.

“God, I need a drink,” Ava muttered then and Sara wondered—not for the first time—if this woman, this perfect stranger, was actually able to read her mind.

They found themselves in some half-deserted open air dive bar around the corner from the hotel a few minutes later. There were only a handful of other people around them, the majority of sensible Colombians likely either at home or on their way out of the country before things could escalate further. Sara couldn’t care less.

“To dodging bullets,” she said, raising her glass of cheap tequila while peering deep into the other woman’s eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure if the glint she could see there was from the alcohol or their proximity, but she was confident that she could recognize a spark when she felt one. There was something there, even if they’d only just met and didn’t know much more about each other than their first names.

“To dodging bullets,” Ava echoed, staring back just as intently as she clinked her shot glass against Sara’s.

They sat in silence after that, each occupied with her own thoughts. Despite the warm summer air there were goosebumps all over Sara’s body. She felt electrified. Alive. She hadn’t felt like that—hadn’t felt anything, really—in way too long.

Before she could second guess herself, she got up from her chair, extending her hand toward the other woman. At Ava’s confused look Sara let out a laugh, taking a hold of her forearm and pulling her to her feet.

“Dance with me.”

The music from an old radio in the corner was a little too quiet to properly dance to, but Sara didn’t care. She wanted— _needed_ —to feel Ava close to her. They started at a respectable distance, Sara’s right hand resting against the other woman’s hip and her left hand in Ava’s right. They were stepping side to side, not really moving, when Sara spun Ava out before pulling her flush to her own body.

They were close—closer than before—faces only inches apart and breaths mingling in-between them. Before she could consider the possibility that she was misreading the signals any further, Sara pressed her lips to Ava’s, bringing her hands from the other woman’s hips into her hair.

Ava reciprocated immediately without hesitation and any doubts Sara might have had mere seconds ago vanished as she felt the blonde’s teeth nip at her bottom lip. They were still dancing—or, rather, swaying—when Sara deepened the kiss a few moments later by pushing her tongue into Ava’s mouth.

“Let’s get out of here,” she breathed against Ava’s lips, one hand making its way underneath the taller woman’s top. As Sara traced her thumb over ribs just below a full breast she could feel Ava’s skin break out into goosebumps and she knew she wasn’t going to say no to her suggestion.

Ava went in for another kiss before taking a hold of Sara’s hand and pulling her toward the exit.

As soon as the door of the hotel room closed behind them Sara pressed Ava against it, bringing her lips to the other woman’s neck, intent on leaving a mark. Her hands found their way under the white tank top again and Ava lifted her arms, which Sara took as her cue to take it off her altogether.

Underneath the blonde was wearing a white bralette that left very little to the imagination. It was almost see-through and Sara could clearly make out Ava’s nipples pressing against the thin fabric. She licked her lips.

She slowly moved her hands up the sides of the blonde’s torso to let her thumbs graze across the other woman’s nipples over her bra. Ava moaned, making a move to take it off entirely. Well, Sara definitely wasn’t going to stop her. Instead, she used the other woman’s preoccupation to slip out of her own pants before pressing close to Ava once more. The taller woman’s hands immediately found their way to Sara’s ass and she moaned into Ava’s mouth at the feeling of strong fingers pressing into her backside, almost lifting her off the floor.

Sara got the hint and let herself be picked up as she hooked her legs around the other woman’s hips. Her mouth found Ava’s again as the latter walked them over to the bed, never breaking their kiss.

Sara yelped as Ava tossed her onto the mattress, looking down at her with an expression that was pure hunger. Sara bit her bottom lip, beckoning the other woman to come join her. ****

Ava didn’t need a second invitation as she crawled up Sara’s body. “Take this off,” she purred, pulling at Sara’s top. The blonde complied immediately, pulling the offending piece of fabric over her head. Ava hadn’t been prepared to come face to face with Sara’s breasts quite so soon; the fact that she hadn’t been wearing a bra temporarily made her feel lightheaded. ****

Sara used this moment to flip them over, straddling Ava’s hips.

“You’re beautiful,” Sara whispered, hands roaming over the naked torso in front of her, appreciating the definition of the blonde’s abs that rivaled her own, the breasts that seemed to fit perfectly into Sara’s palms.

Although she’d had her fair share of one night stands in the past and had absolutely no problem with loving and leaving a lady, this felt slightly different. It felt like a new chapter in her life. Like the beginning of something more.

She wanted to touch every last bit of Ava’s body, wanted to run her mouth over every inch of smooth skin, wanted to make Ava come again and again.

Ava woke with a start, her eyes blinking as she tried to adjust them to the sunlight streaming through the floor-length windows next to her.

The first thing she noticed was that she was in a hotel room that definitely wasn’t her own. There were several items of clothing scattered across the floor and what she was pretty sure was another woman’s thong hung from the lamp in the corner. Memories of someone’s lips on her skin, their hands all over her body flooded her brain. _Sara_.

Ava wasn’t usually the type to spend the night, but sheer exhaustion from their activities had knocked her out cold. Sara was very good with her hands. And her mouth. And she had excellent stamina. Ava had truly met her match and they’d had more orgasms between them in the last couple of hours than she had been able to keep track of.

It had been a good night by any measure. They were very compatible, sexually, and seemed to understand each other almost without words. Although she was not surprised that Sara had not stayed—despite the fact that this was, Ava assumed, her hotel room—she nevertheless could not stop the feeling of disappointment slowly settling over her. Call her naive, but being with Sara had felt like more than just your typical one night stand. She had felt some kind of connection to the other woman, an unspoken bond.

Her thoughts came to a sudden halt when she heard more than saw the door to the room open and instinctively reached for a gun that wasn’t there—because she was currently stark naked in a stranger’s bed. Fuck.

She scanned the room for anything else she could potentially overwhelm the intruder with when her eyes caught blond hair and a top that was definitely her own.

In the doorframe stood Sara, in all her half-naked glory.

She had a tray in one hand and a smile on her face that was almost shy. Ava immediately melted back into the pillows, unable to fight a smile of her own. Sara had gone to get her breakfast.

“Room service fled, I did what I could,” the smaller woman explained as she closed the door behind her and walked over to the bed. Ava could smell coffee and toast but before she was able to even reach for either her eyes fell on something else on the tray. A single red rose.

Her head snapped up to glance at Sara, who looked almost sheepish—so different from the confident, cocky woman from the night before that Ava’s heart clenched in her chest. Without thinking she pulled Sara down onto the bed by the hem of her shirt and pressed their lips together once more.

“You’ve known the girl for six weeks, Sara! What has gotten into you?”

“I’m in love. She’s smart, sexy, funny. Everything I’ve ever wanted,” Sara explained, dodging a right hook from Jax before delivering one of her own.

“What does she do?”

“She’s a lawyer. Human rights.”

Jax tried to go for her ankle but Sara, always one step ahead of her best friend, jumped out of the way, doing what Jax was sure was an entirely unnecessary backflip. Showoff.

“Human rights? And you think that is a good fit because why exactly?”

“Oh come on, it doesn’t matter what her job is. She’s got hers and I’ve got mine and we don’t talk about it.”

“Sara,” Jax tried again. It wasn’t that he did not want his best friend to be happy. On the contrary, seeing her so obviously enamored with someone was a welcome change after years of short-lived flings, one night stands, and being hung up on her ex. This, however, wasn’t like Sara. Sure, she generally operated on intuition and often trusted her gut over her brain but she was never reckless. And this was definitely reckless.

“I asked her to marry me,” she revealed then, dropping the bombshell she’d been keeping to herself for the past couple of days without any more preamble. It had the desired effect; Jax stopped dead in his tracks and Sara lost no time delivering a fatal blow straight to his chest which sent her friend down onto the mat face first.

“I give it 6 months tops,” he grumbled once he got his bearings and sat up, glaring at Sara who threw a water bottle in his direction, triumphant grin on her face.

“Don’t you think it’s all moving a bit fast?” Nora asked carefully, popping the loaded magazine into her pistol and disengaging the safety. She didn’t want to sound like she was judging her best friend or trying to talk her out of the first serious relationship she’d had in all the years she and Ava had known each other. The blonde deserved happiness, deserved what she and Ray had. But maybe not quite in the lightning speed way things were moving at the moment.

“No, it’s perfect. She's perfect. She’s gone as much as I am. Works in cyber security; something happens she’s there.”

Nora put her gun down, giving the woman beside her a concerned look. This wasn’t at all like the level-headed, rational Ava she knew. The Ava who never rushed into things, who was never headless, and always considered all her options, every possible pro and con.

“She asked me to marry her.”

“What? That’s crazy,” Nora exclaimed at this turn of events, while Ava only grinned from ear to ear, aiming at the target in front of her before firing five times in quick succession. Each shot hit the black paper silhouette several yards in front of her straight in the head.

“You want to hear something even crazier? I said yes.”


	3. Washington D.C., present day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL y'all, remember when I said I would update this weekly and then didn't post a new chapter for 4 months? Banter. Sorry for the radio silence. I genuinely don't know why I struggle with multi chapter fics so much but it is what it is, I guess.
> 
> At least this new chapter is 8,500 words so if you read, like, a sentence a day you should be done with it just in time for the next one. (Joking—I hope.)
> 
> Also, check out my self-imposed, 31-day, fluffy Avalance one shot writing challenge that I actually do add to every day. It's called "Imagine Me and You (So Happy Together)."
> 
> And now, without further ado: enjoy, punks!

It was 6.30PM on a Wednesday and Ava was just putting the finishing touches on dinner when the sight of headlights coming up the driveway caught her attention. She wiped her hands on a towel, quickly pushing the case file she had been reading under the microwave. Sara entered a moment later.

“Perfect timing,” Ava greeted. The smile on her face was thin, brittle almost, and Sara could sense that she was in for another dinner with nothing but terse silence.

“Perfect, as always,” she agreed before pressing a kiss to her wife’s cheek. At this point, it was almost muscle memory. Come home. Put down bag. Kiss cheek.

(She couldn’t actually remember the last time they had properly kissed each other like they used to do.)

“Didn’t I ask you this morning to please take out the trash?”

Ava’s voice was all verve and feigned nonchalance and the shorter woman immediately knew it was a trap. Better not admit anything that could be used against her.

“I think so?”

One of her wife’s eyebrows arched upward.

“Then why was the bag still in the kitchen when I got home?”

_Fuck._

“Uhhh, I forgot, I guess?”

Sara shrugged, hoping that that was enough for her wife to drop this and move on.

“Right,” Ava said and it was very clear that her answer had, in fact, been the exact opposite of the _right_ thing to say.

“I’ll take it out now.” The offer was half-hearted and probably too little too late but maybe it was the thought that counted. She was halfway to the trash can when the next words out of the other woman’s mouth stopped her dead in her tracks.

“I already did it.”

Of course she had. This was one of their classic arguments: Ava asked her to do something but before she even had the chance to, her wife would do it first. Plus, even if she did whatever was asked of her, Ava would probably tell her she hadn’t done it properly to begin with and do it all over again, so what even was the point? God, sometimes she truly wished she was still single.

“So the issue is…?” Sara asked carefully, trying very hard to not sound as annoyed as she was because she knew that wouldn’t go over well in this situation. Her wife’s compulsion to stick to stupid rules and micro-manage every little thing down to when, where, and how they had sex ( _never_ , _nowhere_ , and _not at all_ , respectively) was tried and tested. Usually, she not only had a plan B but plans C straight through to Z as well, just in case. She was a control freak, plain and simple—utterly incapable of letting loose and just going with the flow. It was exhausting and, truth be told, Sara was glad that there was no way she would ever have to work together with her wife in any professional capacity because they would probably strangle each other over their problem-solving approaches within the first five minutes.

“That you didn’t take out the trash when I asked you to.”

Sara huffed as she threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Because I _forgot_! Jesus!”

The words came out harsher than intended and Sara immediately felt bad that she’d lost her temper. Getting angry wasn’t her usual MO but her wife knew how to push her buttons so effectively that, sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself.

For a moment they just regarded each other in silence, not quite ready to escalate this fully but not willing to just move past it either, before Ava broke their staring match, brushing her hands off on the apron she was wearing. ****

“It’s fine.”

Sara rolled her eyes.

“It obviously isn’t, though, is it?”

Ava’s lips were pressed together in a thin line.

“It’s _fine_ ,” she repeated with more force than strictly necessary and a sigh escaped the shorter woman’s lips.

“I’ll go wash my hands,” Sara said after a moment. She had the sudden urge to reach out, to touch her wife’s hand, her shoulder, her cheek, but, eventually, decided against it, turning and heading for the downstairs bathroom instead.

Dinner was an awkward affair after their little _conversation_ in the kitchen—not that it was ever truly fun to begin with these days. More often than not it featured either polite but meaningless small talk or deafening silence. Sometimes, it made her feel like she didn’t know her wife at all, that they had nothing to talk about beyond superficial pleasantries. And she knew that so much of that was her own fault. That there were so many things she just couldn’t share with her wife. So many things that were off-limits. Nevertheless, she should make an effort to say… something, she thought. _Anything_. She cleared her throat.

“This is delicious. Did you try something new?”

“I added peas,” Ava replied, taking another bite without making eye contact.

“Well, it works. It’s great!”

She tried to infuse her tone with as much enthusiasm as possible although it sounded fake even to her own ears.

She received a, “Thank you,” and a small smile that didn’t reach the other woman’s eyes in response before silence descended over the room once more.

So much for making conversation.

“Could you pass me the salt?” Sara asked after a few minutes, more for the sake of having something to say rather than actually getting her hands on the salt shaker.

Her wife didn’t look up from her plate.

“It’s in the middle of the table.”

“What?” Her brows furrowed.

Finally, Ava lifted her head and looked her wife straight in the eye, challenge clear in her gaze.

“It’s in the middle of the table. Right between you and me.”

Was this some kind of passive-aggressive power play? Some more fucked up mind games? Truth be told, Sara’d had quite a busy day at the office and her left knee was absolutely killing her. She wasn’t in the mood for games. But she didn’t want to back down from a challenge either. She raised her eyebrows, feigning surprise.

“Is it?”

The result of her question was a staring match that, a few years ago, would have ended in them ripping each other’s clothes off and getting down and dirty right then and there on the dining room table. At this point, however, she knew that, more likely than not, the only result of this would be her sleeping on the couch tonight so she just rolled her eyes, sighing, before getting up and grabbing the salt shaker.

At the sight of her wife’s self-satisfied smirk she snapped—internally, at least—and absolutely _drenched_ her plate in salt out of pure spite once she got back to it, ignoring any and all consideration for the actual taste of the dish.

The taller woman opened her mouth, about to deliver what Sara assumed would be a scathing remark, when a phone started ringing in the kitchen. Ava was out of her seat faster than should be humanly possible, mumbling an absent-minded, “Excuse me,” as she left the room.

Sara just shrugged to herself, taking another bite of her casserole before spitting it right back out because all she could taste was salt. _Goddamnit_.

It took five minutes for her wife to return and, when she did, the look on her face told Sara everything she needed to know about what was going on. ****

“I need to go back to the office. There’s an emergency involving the Saudi Arabian government,” the taller woman said, confirming her wife’s assumption.

Situations like this were nothing new. No one else at her law firm seemed even vaguely competent, especially considering all the high level clients all over the world that needed legal support apparently 24/7. Truly, she would think it was almost suspicious just how often Ava got called back to the office after hours if it wasn’t so damn convenient for Sara herself.

“Sounds serious.”

She smiled softly.

“It’s fine, you go save the world, babe. I was gonna head out to play some poker with the boys, anyway.”

“Could you—” Ava started, but Sara interrupted her before she could finish her question, already anticipating what she was going to ask.

“Yeah, I’ll clear the table, don’t worry.”

They smiled at each other—earnestly, this time—and it was almost as if their earlier fight hadn’t happened until Ava said, “I’ll go get changed,” and the moment was over.

Sara only nodded, watching her wife leave the room with a pang of wistfulness.

As she made her way upstairs, Ava felt guilty that she was almost relieved to have an excuse to get out of the house tonight. But, more often than not when being around Sara these days, thelittlest things turned into pointless arguments and she could name several of her wife’s habits that regularly drove her up the wall, first and foremost the fact that her wife never planned anything, preferring to _go with the flow_ and _improvise_.

While her spontaneity had been exciting at first—especially in the bedroom—the realizationhow very differently they approached just about anything had quickly sobered Ava up to what this spontaneity really meant. It wasn’t that she couldn’t rely on her wife per se, but there had been occasions when the blonde had been too _spontaneous_ to remember appointments, anniversaries, or chores. ****

At the same time, Ava was aware that she herself hadn’t always invested enough into their marriage either. She could be cold, robot-like, and had a general tendency to keep people at arm’s length, which wasn’t all that different in the context of her marriage. And Sara didn’t deserve that. Yes, she was emotionally unavailable, impulsive, and infuriating on the best of days, but she was also funny, and strong, and compassionate.

Once she reached the ensuite, she made quick work of changing her make-up from her usual natural day time face to a bolder, more severe look because she knew he was a fan of that kind of thing—beautiful women with faces painted to the point where they were unrecognizable. Well, it came in kind of handy in this case.

Satisfied with how she looked, she walked out of the bathroom and into the walk-in closet she shared with her wife. It took a bit of rummaging but she eventually found what she was looking for: a nondescript black garment back hidden underneath a pile of old towels. ****

Just as she was unzipping the bag, the stairs creaked and, a moment later, she could hear Sara rustling around in the en-suite bathroom around the corner; but despite the possibility of her wife walking in any moment—and because she didn’t have any time to waste right now—she took off her pants, sweater, and bra, folding them neatly and putting them on the ottoman in the middle of the room.

When it came to re-dressing, she started at the bottom, pulling on the stockings and clipping them into place on the garter belt before eventually squeezing herself into the central piece of her outfit: a black leather corset.

She hated corsets—even though, granted, they did make her tits look absolutely phenomenal. But she knew he liked them and wouldn’t be able to resist and that was what it was all about tonight: being fully and absolutely irresistible. Because she couldn’t really leave the house in panties and a corset, she put a trench coat over the ensemble and tied the belt around her midsection before stepping into Sara’s line of sight.

“Bye, honey.”

Her wife’s eyes met hers in the mirror, seemingly taking no note of the fact that she’d changed her outfit.

“Bye,” the blonde echoed, giving her a tight smile.

Sara waited until she could hear the front door slam shut downstairs to pull on the bulletproof vest over her tank top. As terrible as it might sound, she was thanking her lucky stars that her wife had another one of her work emergencies tonight because it was nothing if not a case of very convenient timing. True, she wouldn’t have questioned Sara’s poker night with the boys either way, but having her out of the house for the time being definitely made things a little easier.

Checking her reflection in the mirror one last time she nodded to herself, satisfied with what she was seeing. The bulletproof vest was barely visible underneath her jacket and she looked like someone who shouldn’t be fucked with, which—no doubt—couldn't hurt tonight. ****

She crossed the bedroom to grab a wad of crisp fifty dollar bills from the safe in her nightstand, stuffing it into the inside pocket of her jacket right next to the knife she liked to keep there—just in case. The plan wasn’t to actually win any money tonight. Yes, she was a decent enough poker player but there were more important things to focus on here. Once she’d gotten everything she needed from inside the house, she went over to the garage to get the rest of her kit for the night before getting in her car and pulling out of the drive.

As soon as she rounded the corner at the end of their street, Ava spotted the sleek black limousine a few feet ahead. Despite the fact that they lived in an affluent neighborhood the car stood out a little too much for her liking.

Usually, shepreferred to drive herself because it drew way less attention but she wasn’t one hundred percent confident she would still be able to do that by the end of the night, so she’d opted for a driver instead.

She hurried over to the vehicle, the clicking of her heels on the concrete echoing around the dark, quiet neighborhood.

As soon as she slid into the backseat, she was greeted with a businesslike, “Good Evening, Miss Sharpe.” She offered only a terse nod in response as the car sped off toward the city.

The restaurant was a lot seedier than Sara had expected, lights dimmed in the half-empty dining room and walls painted an awful blue-green color.

She strode toward the kitchen with a sense of purpose even though she’d never been to this place before and was pretty sure that she would be stopped by some of the guy’s security people before she actually had a chance to reach the back room she was heading for but if she had learned anything in the past few years it was that people seldom questioned what you were doing if you looked like you were doing it with confidence. It worked until she got to a set of doors marked “Private” and a man in a dark bomber jacket and aviator sunglasses appeared in front of her. ****

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, missy?” he bellowed, and the first thing she noticed about him was that he was wearing the ugliest pair of shoes she had ever seen in her life. She took another look at him. He was short, all shoulders and no neck, and Sara figured that she could probably take him down in under thirty seconds if she had to. It wouldn’t be ideal because they were still in the direct line of sight of roughly half the dining room but it was good to know that she had options just in case he decided to give her any kind of trouble.

“I’m here to see Johnny. He’s expecting me.”

He gave her a skeptical once-over, arms folded in front of his chest. ****

“And who the fuck are you?” ****

“Wendy Darling,” Sara supplied without hesitation although she was cringing internally because that had to be hands down the stupidest codename she’d ever had to use. Like, what the fuck was this? _Disneyland_?

It had the desired effect, though. The guy’s entire demeanor shifted instantly and he stepped aside, offering her a slightly more cheerful, “Right this way,” as he gestured toward a door to his left. _Bingo_.

Ava had always hated elevators. Yes they were quick and efficient and sleek—all things she very much appreciated—but something about being trapped in a small metal box while dangling anywhere between five and five hundred feet in the air just didn’t sit quite right with her. She was just about to adjust the stupid corset one last time when elevator pinged, signaling her arrival on the top floor. _Finally_.

Not losing any time, she strutted down to hallway to room number 3912, knocked twice in rapid succession, and had barely enough time to put her fist down before the door in front of her swung open, putting her face to face with a dark-haired man in a black suit who let her in without any questions. He must’ve been told that she would be stopping by.

She entered without a word, inconspicuously checking the room for hidden weapons, cameras, and the best exits as she walked through. It wasn’t ideal, but she’d worked with worse.

There was no trace of Conti.

She was just about to take off her trench coat when he suddenly stepped up behind her, running his hands over her shoulders and down her arms.

“Let me,” he offered, moving her hair to the side before reaching around her body to take a hold of the belt around her middle. His lips were so close to her neck that she could feel his breath on her skin; she counted to ten in her head in order to calm herself down.

His hands were gentle, almost careful, as he pulled the straps apart and she marveled at how a man who’d done what he had done could be so tender.

She turned around as soon as he’d placed her coat on the chair in the corner.

“Kneel,” she ordered.

He titled his head, a smirk playing around his lips. He didn’t make a move to do as she’d demanded.

_Over-confident dick._

“I said kneel.”

Still no movement.

“I won’t ask again,” she hissed, voice suddenly lower, more dangerous, and he finally sank to the ground in front of her.

Sara groaned. This was the second round she’d lost already and, at this point, she was about two thousand five hundred dollars down—and the guy she’d come here for in the first place hadn’t even turned up yet. Granted, she’d never been very good at poker and playing with a bunch of absolute assholes didn’t really help. Yes, she was used to being the only woman in a room full of guys but something about this particular setting just put her teeth on edge a little more than usual. She wasn’t scared, exactly, just… apprehensive, somehow.

The guy across from her was just re-shuffling the deck when the door flew open and Johnny finally appeared. Or at least she assumed it was him based on the nasty scar right across his cheek. If the whole Mafia thing hadn’t worked out he could’ve had a career as a movie villain—he definitely had the face for it.

“Johnny?”

He turned to look at her.

“Who’s asking?”

Right, it was definitely him because no one would say that if they weren’t actually the person in question.

Instead of giving him an actual answer, she pulled out one of the Glocks tucked against her side and shot him straight in the head before producing a second identical gun from her right boot as she turned, firing at the other three guys on the opposite side of the table with practiced precision until they crumbled to the floor.

The wall behind them was splattered with blood, the deep red color of it contrasting nicely with the terrible beige wallpaper.

For a moment, she admired her handiwork before grabbing most of the cash off the table and shoving it into her jacket pocket while turning over the cards of the guy across from her who’d pissed her off the most during the game to check his hand. A two and a seven. ****

“Dickhead,” she muttered as she made a beeline for the window on the far side of the room.

Ava slowly paced back and forth, running her fingers across Conti’s shoulders as she did.

He was kneeling in front of her, hands tied behind his back, and she could tell he was turned on so she doubled down by bending down and leaning in close.

Lips right next to his ear, she said, “You have been a very naughty boy, haven’t you?”

Her voice was more than an octave lower than it normally was, all breath and seduction. She wasn’t surprised in the least that he was eating this right up. From what she knew about him, he liked to be controlled, dominated, like so many other successful, powerful man in his position. It was pathetic, really.

“Yes, yes I—I have.”

She put a hand on his left shoulder, squeezing.

“And you need to be punished, don’t you?”

“Yes. _Please_ ,” he moaned. By now, he was wax in her hands, horny to the point of desperation.

Ava smiled, leaning in even closer, squeezing his shoulder even harder.

“Such a naughty boy,” she whispered while her hands slowly travelled up his body, “selling big, dangerous weapons to the wrong people.”

Before he had a chance to react she snapped his neck in one smooth motion and his body slumped forward, lifeless, hitting the carpet with a thud.

Sara knew she needed to move fast. The silencers on her guns were only able to do so much, so the shots had still been audible—especially to trained Mafia ears. Actually, she was surprised that no-neck Norman from earlier hadn’t already come barging in to check what was going on.

Briefly considering her options, she figured that leaving the way she’d come in probably wasn’t the smartest move, so she jogged over to the window, peaking outside.

The coast seemed to be clear. She made quick work of pushing the window open and—with a last glance at the room and the destruction she’d left behind in it—she disappeared into the night just as the door flew open.

As Ava made sure Conti was actually dead, she marveled at what you’d call another successful mission. Quick. Clean. Efficient. Just the way she liked it—and why she was so good at her job.

Outside, she could hear Conti’s personal bodyguard get antsy on the other side of the door. Time for a swift exit. She quickly pulled open the window and glanced down, remembering all at once that she was on the thirty-ninth floor right now. She could see the street beneath, a taxi just pulling up in front of the hotel and a couple of pedestrians strolling along the sidewalk, unaware of what had just occurred a few hundred feet above their heads.

She had known from the outset that, more likely than not, the only way out would be through the window—so of course she’d come prepared. Also, it wasn’t like she hadn’t done this before. Easy peasy.

It was past ten by the time Sara pulled into the driveway.

The mission had taken slightly longer than she would’ve liked but she could always blame it on "the guys" wanting to exhaust their one night of freedom from their wives, so she wasn’t worried. ****

As she stepped up to the front door she saw that the light in their bedroom was on, so Ava had to be home already. Looked like her work emergency hadn’t been so bad after all.

Toeing off her shoes by the door because she knew her wife would have a fit otherwise, she went straight upstairs. The bedroom was empty.

She glanced into the walk-in closet. Also empty. _Huh_. Next she tried the ensuite bathroom, where she found her wife in front of the sink.

“Do we need to re-mortgage the house?” Ava asked as soon as she noticed her, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

She was in a robe, face free of make-up and hair pulled up into a messy bun. Her feet were bare. She was absolutely beautiful.

“I won, actually,” Sara laughed, feeling inexplicably light all of a sudden, almost as if they hadn’t been about ready to file for divorce just a few hours earlier—as if they didn’t silently resent each other. It was nice.

She was about to do something stupid, something reckless, like wrap her arms around her wife and pull her close, when the other woman caught sight of something on her cheek and her eyes widened.

“Oh my god, are you alright?”

Confused, Sara’s brows furrowed.

“Y—yeah, why?”

“You’re bleeding,” Ava said, taking a hold of her wife’s chin with one hand and tilting her head to the side so she could get a better look at the trace of blood across the blonde’s face. Her thumb ran along the other woman’s jawline almost absentmindedly. Sara shuddered.

The moment was tender, raw, her wife’s eyes so bright and full of actual worry that Sara wanted nothing more than to let herself be taken care of, to lean into the touch. But there was no good way to justify why she had blood that definitely wasn’t her own on her face right now—it was a rookie mistake, really, and she internally cursed herself for being so sloppy—so she reluctantly shrugged her wife’s hand off.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

Ava’s eyes found hers.

“If you say so,” she said quietly and Sara thought that, for a moment, she could see something like disappointment in her gaze—or maybe she was just imagining it—before her face became an indifferent mask devoid of any emotion whatsoever once again. “Anyway, I’m heading to bed. Goodnight.” She gave the other woman a tight-lipped smile.

“I won’t be long,” Sara promised as she reached for a face wipe, watching her wife leave.

Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the sink as she let her head fall between her shoulders. She exhaled. ****

God, she was such an asshole. Her wife loved her, was this wonderful woman who wanted nothing more than to take care of her and here she was lying to her, keeping secrets from her every single day.

Well, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice in the matter.

Ava’s heart was beating fast as she walked out of the bathroom and sat down on the edge of their bed, letting her head fall into her hands. Although, really, nothing had happened, the encounter had stirred her up and she couldn’t shake the thought that there had been something between them just then—a long-lost spark. Tenderness. Connection.

Seeing the blood on Sara’s face had given her the urge to reach out, to fix what was broken—all the while reminding her of all the blood on her own hands and the fact that she was lying to her wife every single day. Every time she looked at her, smiled at her, touched her.

But what other option did she have?

 _None_.

By the time Sara made it to their bedroom, the lights were off, but even in the darkness she could sense that her wife wasn’t actually asleep yet.

For a moment she considered reaching out, pulling her close, maybe even to try and get some because, yes, her wife might be cold and standoffish more often than not these days but she was nothing if not drop dead gorgeous and sex with her was equally hot—or at least it had been once upon a time when they were still having sex with each other.

Eventually, she sighed in resignation, having decided not to try to make a move, and turned onto her side instead, facing the wall.

The next day, Sara walked into the office with a coffee in hand and sunglasses perched on her nose.

She’d slept like shit, the events of the previous evening keeping her awake until long after midnight. No the killings—she was used to that—but the moment in the bathroom with her wife. Something seemed to have shifted last night. Something she couldn’t name. ****

She’d just taken a seat when Jax greeted her with a curt, “Lance, new case!” before a nondescript manila folder landed on her desk.

She picked it up, scanning the contents quickly before getting up with a quiet groan and walking over to the meeting area.

Maybe a new case she could sink her teeth into was exactly what she needed to get her mind off of what was going on at home. Killing people on the regular really did make for excellent stress relief.

“Right, guys. Looks like this day just got a little more interesting. Target is ex military—whistleblower—being moved from New Mexico to a high-security facility in Arizona,” she announced, mind already busy trying to come up with the most exciting way to approach this.

“Our best chance to get the job done is to intercept them here, just behind the Arizona border,” Ava pointed at a section of the map on the flatscreen on the wall. Nora nodded and typed something into her tablet. ”Wide open spaces, so it’ll be easy to set something up. I’m thinking motion sensors, timed explosion. Piece of cake.”

“TNT or PETN?”

“Let’s go with PETN,” she confirmed.

Explosives weren’t her usual MO—a little too messy, for her liking—but they seemed like the most straightforward solution in this case, considering most of the transport would take place in the middle of the desert. While going over the brief in front of her once again, she started to mentally compile a list of what exactly she would need for the mission.

“Right, sounds like a good time to bust out the old motorbike. I’ll surprise them from the side; bang, bang, done.” Sara shrugged, popping the last of a Snickers bar she’d snagged from the office kitchen into her mouth.

“What kind of ammo do you want to take?” Jax asked from where was leaning against a filing cabinet with a cup of coffee in his hands.

“A bit of everything.

“Very specific.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like it matters. This is child’s play! I could take them out with a pack of gum and a screwdriver.”

He only rolled his eyes at her in response—because he knew she was right.

The heat was scorching in the open space of the desert, sun beating down relentlessly.

Letting out a breath, Ava re-adjusted her aviators before settling into her chair in the little hideaway she’d set up on top of a rock formation, which gave her a perfect overview of the valley. Everything was going according to plan: the convoy was approximately two and a half miles away, all systems were online and ready to go, and she had already started the mission report.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” she suddenly heard Nora’s voice in her earpiece and sighed, reaching for the pair of binoculars at her feet. Immediately, she spotted a figure on a motorbike blowing up dust in the distance as they came closer from the North. _Fuck_.

She was just about to get up to get the rifle she’d brought just in case to take care of the intruder when her laptop started beeping. A flashing red pop up appeared.

“Ava, what the hell is going on? The timer just got triggered but they aren’t anywhere close to the designated zone.”

Cursing, she started typing furiously on the keyboard to override the system and stop the timer the idiot on the motorbike had set off. So much for a smooth mission.

“Some imbecile thinks they can finish the job before we can. Just you wait, my friend.”

Without hesitation this time, she grabbed her sniper rifle, lifted it to her shoulder, and aimed at the figure in the distance. She fired, sure it would be enough to take their competition out, but they managed to veer out the way by taking a sharp left turn and skidding to a halt behind a large rock some fifty feet away from where Ava was currently standing.

“Damn it!” she cursed, throwing the rifle to the side.

There was no way to shoot them now—and no way to know what their next move would be—because she couldn’t actually _see_ them. Really, she had only two options: wait it out or prepare to attack. Well, she’d never been good at sitting idly by.

A drone would probably be her best bet in this situation—the only issue with that being that she currently did not have one (and no matter how good her team was, she doubted that they could get one to her all the way from D.C. in the next two minutes).

Right, so she needed another plan.

In all honesty, it pissed her off to no end that she hadn’t seen this coming—hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone else would swoop in and ruin this for her. She had a Plan B in case the car took a different route. Another one in case the explosives didn’t go off. But how _the hell_ had she not given any thought to something like this?

Before she could further berate herself for her idiocy she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and, a second later, the intruder re-appeared from behind the boulder with what Ava was ninety-nine percent sure was a bazooka.

 _Fuck._ ****

Quickly, she got up, ducked underneath the tarp at the back of her base, and made her way across the rocky terrain as fast as she could without slipping.

Ava heard rather than saw the explosion behind her before the shockwave catapulted her several feet forward into the dirt. At least she didn’t have to worry about leaving any traces behind, she thought, as she scrambled to her feet and made a run for her jeep.

“Well, it’s pretty fried. What did you do with this? Toss it into a minefield?”

Sara winced, looking at the charred remains of the laptop on the table in front of her. So maybe blowing up the little hideaway the other day hadn’t been her smartest move on her part, but her number one priority in that moment had been not to get shot—and the bazooka had seemed like her best bet. Afterward, there had been no sight of what the blonde assumed was an agent from a competitor other than tire tracks in the dirt, but Sara still needed to make sure that her identity wasn’t compromised.

“Something like that. Anything you can do?”

She put on her best puppy dog eyes as she produced a box of donuts from her bag and offered it to Zari. The hacker was sarcastic and moody on the best of days but, luckily, Sara knew a way to make her at least a little bit more agreeable: she’d do almost anything if you bribed her with food.

“Unlikely,” the dark-haired woman replied, grabbing the donuts and immediately shoving one into her mouth.

“Please, Zari. I’ll take anything.”

The other woman sighed as if Sara had just asked her to cure cancer and find the answer to the universe all before lunch as she turned the laptop around, inspecting it a little more closely.

“I might be able to get you a billing address for the hard drive. Give me one second.”

She watched as Zari took out a piece that seemed relatively unscathed and inserted it into some sort of semi-computer contraption before starting to type furiously for about thirty seconds. Then:

“Jackpot!”

She turned the screen toward Sara. “There you go.”

Right there in front of her was an address in downtown D.C., not too far from her own office.

“You’re the best, Z!”

“I know,” she countered without missing a beat. Sara only laughed in response.

Ava was pacing back and forth in the middle of the office. The person she’d run into in New Mexico—or, rather, the person who had _ruined her mission_ in New Mexico—must have been another professional assassin, albeit a very _bad_ one, so there was a possibility that they had seen her.

And that left her with only one thing to do: she had to identify them before they could identify her and take them out. Simple as that.

Unfortunately, none of her equipment had survived the encounter and the explosion had impacted the transmission of the mission’s live feed, which made all this a lot harder than it usually was. So, for the past two hours Ava had paced the office, observing her team’s frantic effort to salvage any- and everything they could. They had come up empty until now.

“Ava.”

The blonde stopped dead in her tracks as the mention of her name interrupted her mental spiraling.

“Yes,” she said expectantly, looking over at Nora.

“We were able to recover some of the video footage from yesterday.”

_Hallelujah._

She stepped up behind the brunette.

“Let me see.”

“We’re running it through all the ID software we have at the moment.”

“Let me see,” she repeated, more forceful this time.

Sara went straight to the address Zari had given her after leaving the hacker’s workspace in the back of a Persian restaurant, not bothering to pick up extra ammo or backup—or come up with a more thorough plan of taking out the competition. She had a handgun, a butterfly knife, and fifteen year’s worth of hand-to-hand combat skills. What more could she possibly need?

The place was easy enough to find—a grey multi-level building just off K Street.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the sign next to the door.

**DARHK, GREEN & SHARPE**

**_______________________**

**ATTORNEYS AT LAW**

Ava. ****

This was where Ava worked _._

Sara checked the address again to make sure she was actually in the right place—even though she definitely knew was.

Her own wife had tried to shoot her. More importantly, _her own wife_ was a hitman—well, woman—not a human rights lawyer. It took another second for the realization of what that truly meant in the context of her current situation. _God-fucking-damnit_.

The video was grainy, black and white, and, once again, Ava cursed the fact that that absolute imbecile who ruined her entire mission had blown up her base. There was no way this was going to get them anywhere, especially because the very imbecile in question was either wearing a motorcycle helmet or was out of frame behind that stupid boulder for most of the clip.

The scene that Ava remembered only too well played in front of her: the motorbike, the boulder, the bazooka. Until Nora paused the video and zoomed in. Ava could feel her stomach drop.

She would recognize that smirk anywhere, no matter how blurry. It was _Sara_.

Her own wife had not only cost her the bounty but also almost killed her in the process. Her own wife was an assassin—and for a competing agency, no less. _Fuck_.

It was 6.30PM on a Tuesday and Ava was just putting the finishing touches on dinner when the sight of headlights coming up the driveway caught her attention. She wiped her hands on a towel, quickly grabbing a knife from the utensil drawer and putting it up her sleeve. Sara entered a moment later.

“Perfect timing,” Ava greeted. The smile on her face was thin, brittle almost, and Sara could sense that she was in for a tense evening.

“Perfect, as always,” she agreed before pressing a kiss to her wife’s cheek. Muscle memory.

Ava seemed on edge—slightly jumpy, even—and for a moment she considered the possibility that the other woman knew as well.

Impossible.

“I’m going to go wash my hands before dinner,” she said to have an excuse to leave the room. She needed to get her hands on a weapon, just in case. ****

Instead of the bathroom she made a beeline for the living room. Although she didn’t have any actual weapons in here she was sure she could find something to use to defend herself.

Candle holder? Too bulky. Remote control? Too ineffective. Fireplace poker? Potentially. ****

“Dinner’s ready,” she heard Ava’s voice from the dining room then. She winced.

Looked like she had no choice but to go back unarmed.

When Sara entered the room a moment later, the older woman was stood by the side of the table, a knife in one and a fork in the other hand, ready to carve the roast she’d prepared.

“Let me help you with that, babe,” Sara offered, stepping up behind her wife as she reached around her hips to take a hold of the carving knife. Her mouth was only inches away from the top of Ava’s spine, so close that she could feel rather than see the goosebumps erupting on the other woman’s skin.

“Thank you.”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Effectively trapped between her wife and the table, Ava considered her options. She could stay in her current position and risk a knife to the gut. Or she could make an escape under the pretense of having to cut the bread to get her hands on one of her own. Even out the odds a bit.

She decided to do the latter.

After a moment of hesitation she put a hand on her wife’s arm, effectively stopping her movements.

“I'll just cut the bread, honey,” she said as she stepped out of her wife’s arms before rounding the table.

She picked up the knife, the cold metal against her palm helping to calm her down as they stared each other down across the dinner table, neither woman willing to be the first to give in.

Truly, you would have been able to cut the tension with any of the knives currently in their hands.

“How was your day?” Ava asked in a blatant attempt to ease it, even if only slightly.

“Busy. We had some issues with—with a competitor.”

The way she’d stumbled on her words told Ava everything she needed to know.

“Oh, nothing too serious, I hope.”

“We’ll see,” Sara replied. She gestured toward the head of the table. “Come on, sit down. I’m sure you’ve had a stressful day as well.”

Ava hesitated for a brief moment, considering if sitting down was a good idea, but then decided that she had to pretend that everything was normal in order to do this successfully—and that there was no good reason for her to stand. She didn’t let go of the bread knife, though.

Instead, she deposited it next to her plate as she sank into the chair at one end of the table.

“It was certainly… interesting. A lot of new input on one of my cases,” she replied, eyeing her wife warily as she came toward her, wine bottle in hand.

But Sara didn’t do anything to threaten her. (At least not outright.) All she did was pour her a glass of her favorite Merlot.

Once she was done, however, she didn’t go back to her own side of the table. She just stood next to Ava for a moment, motionless, until—suddenly and without warning—she let the wine bottle slip from her hand.

As it fell toward the ground, Ava didn’t turn her head to look. Instead, she simply reached out her hand, easily catching the bottle.

They locked eyes.

It was in that exact moment that Ava knew Sara knew—that she realized her carefully constructed house of cards, made of lies and half-truths, had just come crashing down. The exact moment she realized that she had no choice but to kill her wife.

And she was sure the other woman must have come to a similar conclusion.

The silence between them was almost deafening as they stared at each other, neither daring to make the next move as they realized what this meant for them.

They’d spent six years together and all of it had been a lie.

Ava let go of the bottle.

It fell to the floor with a thud, wine seeping into the carpet as it created a deep red stain.

They looked at it—it looked so much like the blood they both had on their hands, the blood they would have to spill to end this—before they both jumped into action at the same time.

“I’ll go get a towel,” Ava offered, getting up from her chair, just as Sara said, “I got it.”

The older woman disappeared toward the kitchen and Sara used the opportunity to quickly move in the opposite direction. Her closest weapon was hidden in the oak desk in the study, which seemed like her best bet right now.

As soon as she reached the desk she opened the second drawer from the top with one hand while reaching underneath the tabletop with the other. Two oblong black metal pieces came to light.

Lastly, she grabbed what looked like an ordinary pen from the side, quickly getting to work and assembling the gun with practiced movements before reaching into the flower pot in the corner to get some ammo.

For a moment she debated whether or not to go upstairs into the spare room to pick up her Glock as well but she took a look at the gun already in her one and the bullets in the other hand and decided against it. Probably best not to give her wife too much time to gear up. If she’d hidden an entire battalion’s worth of ammo in a flower pot she could only imagine what the other woman had stacked away in the kitchen (and God knew where else).

Just as she was about to go looking for her wife she heard the sound of tires on the gravel in the driveway right before she saw Ava’s Mercedes speeding past the dining room window.

“Son of a _bitch_!”

She dropped the extra bullets in her hand to the floor and set off toward the front door, hoping to be able to catch up with her wife despite the other woman’s head start. For a second she considered getting her own car—or even a bike—from the garage but figured that it would take too long and she had a better chance if she legged it and cut through a few of the neighboring yards in the process. Ava had to be heading to the city and there was only one way to get there from their house.

She jumped over her neighbor’s gate, ran across his lawn, and then ducked underneath his back hedge, hoping more than anything that she was right about this and not trespassing for nothing.

She crossed another two back gardens, jumped over a fence into the next one, dodged a swing hanging from a tree, and finally broke through the bushes and ran onto the street. Ava’s car was about twenty yards away, coming straight toward her and before she could question her instincts, she lifted the gun she’d had clenched in her right hand for the entirety of her impromptu sprint and fired at the windshield.

The bullet went clean through the glass, leaving a small hole slightly underneath the rear-view mirror.

The action showed immediate results as the car skidded to a halt a few yards in front of Sara.

Her wife’s expression was thunderous.

“Did you just _shoot_ at me?”

 _Shit_. Sara lifted her hands above her head in a gesture of surrender.

“Babe, listen…”

She hadn’t meant to actually _shoot her_ shoot her; she’d just needed to make a statement to get the other woman to stop the car. And firing a shot into her general direction had seemed like the most efficient way to do that. Well, her wife seemed to disagree.

The blonde reved the engine, determination on her face, before moving into gear.

“Ava, stop the car.”

She didn’t. If anything, she got faster.

“You’re overreacting,” Sara tried again, which _definitely_ was the wrong way to say because, instead of stopping, the other woman got faster. A lot faster. So fast, in fact, that there was no time to jump out of the way.

Thinking on her feet—and pretty much out of any other options, anyway—she turned sideways, lowered her shoulder, and braced for impact. She was still surprised when the car actually hit her but recovered quickly as she rolled over, up, and onto the roof, pressing her fingertips into the frame on each side.

Immediately, the taller woman started swerving the car from side to side on the empty street in an effort to throw Sara off— _literally_.

“Come on, Ava, don’t be like that,” she hissed through gritted teeth, trying not to fall off the car as her wife’s attempts to jettison her got more and more intense.

“Don’t tell me what to do. You lost that right when you tried to fucking shoot me just now.”

“I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

And if Ava was only half the assassin Sara knew she was—because her wife never did anything half-assed—she had to know that the fact that she wasn’t dead right now had been a deliberate move on Sara’s part.

“Oh, really? Sure looked like you did.”

Or maybe she was just trying to be difficult. For a moment, Sara considered if it was worth it trying to get off the roof and into the car through one of the windows because this seemed like a conversation they shouldn’t be having while re-enacting the _Fast and Furious_ franchise.

Ultimately, though, she came to the conclusion that she’d more likely than not do some serious damage with how erratically her wife was driving at the moment.

“You would’ve done the same,” she argued instead. And then it hit her. “Wait! You actually have! Forgot about New Mexico, _sweetheart_?”

She smirked even though the other woman couldn’t see her.

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” Ava scoffed and Sara practically _felt_ the eye roll accompanying the statement.

“Love you, too,” she sing-songed in response because this was familiar. They’d always been good at bantering, toeing the line between fondness and exasperation. It was easy, comfortable, and almost let her forget that she was currently trying to hold onto the roof of a Mercedes while her wife was barreling along the quiet streets of their neighborhood at breakneck speed.

“Goodbye, Sara,” Ava declared eventually and the blonde had just enough time to let out a confused “What?” before she saw the driver’s door open as her wife threw herself out of the moving vehicle.

Ava rolled over with practiced precision in order to minimize injury and then watched from her position on the ground as the car crashed through a hedge at the end of the street and into the pool right behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me for taking so long and then dropping a 8.5K word update on you out of nowhere. (Or comment something nice, up to you.)


End file.
